


threw caution to the wind (but i've got a lousy arm)

by cherrybirds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Pining, Set in the summer where they just finished second year and are moving into third!, bcos if you look up pining in the dictionary you find these two, it's all about the hands bro, so much pining, the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24500170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybirds/pseuds/cherrybirds
Summary: It's hot- so hot, Tsukishima can see it bouncing off the concrete pavement in waves. Disgustingly hot. His shirt is sticking to his back, his glasses are slipping ever so slightly down his nose, he can feel the skin on his arms slowly growing red- yet Yamaguchi is still smiling.He's always smiling. And so Tsukishima falls.(Or, 3 times they get a little too close and don't mention it, and one time they do.)
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 185





	threw caution to the wind (but i've got a lousy arm)

**Author's Note:**

> bcos 1) it is hot as FUCK in wales rn and i need to project the fact that i feel like a boiled egg and 2) HAPPY PRIDE MONTH BABEY 3) i was thinking about the keep drawing horses comic TOOOOO hard
> 
> and yes those are fall out boy lyrics in the title in 2020 no i do not have taste or self respect xx
> 
> follow my hq sideblog on tumblr: osamuiya :-)! 
> 
> this isnt proofread bcos it is 3am and i hate myself rn not gonna lie

It's hot- so hot, Tsukishima can see it bouncing off the concrete pavement in waves. Disgustingly hot. His shirt is sticking to his back, his glasses are slipping ever so slightly down his nose, he can feel the skin on his arms slowly growing red- yet Yamaguchi is still smiling. Still smiling, laughing, casually dropping snarky jokes- it’s like he thrives in the harsh sun. His freckles look darker than they did last week, or so Tsukishima thinks they seem to anyway. Maybe the sun has some redeeming qualities after all. To Tsukishima, the sun tends to cast a haze over the world. Time drips by like honey from a spoon, thick and golden and confusing and so, so slow. Can’t think. Can’t study. Yet the attention he pays to the baby hairs curling at the nape of Yamaguchi’s tanned neck is razor sharp. 

“Are you even listening to me, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi stops short, an eyebrow raised and an easy grin stretched across his lips. “I said, we should stop by a shop or something before we go back to mine. I’m craving ice cream!”

Tsukishima considers for a second- he’s distantly aware of the spare yen rolling around in his back pocket- he knows he can afford it and the notion of elongating his time with Yamaguchi is an ever appealing one. The decision is already made, but for the mere purpose of winding Yamaguchi up and coaxing a fond eye roll as well as that warm scoff he knows so well, he finds himself shrugging nonchalantly and humming anyway. 

“What, you’re paying are you? I’m starting to think all these snack runs are a ploy to run me broke, Yamaguchi.” He argues lightly, his intonation softened with affection and his blank expression thwarted by a slight upturn of the right corner of his mouth. On anybody else, such small changes would be lost, but Yamaguchi knows Tsukishima like the back of his hand. Tsukishima can see his grin widen, followed by the aforementioned scoff. Judging by the fact that he easily falls back into step next to Tsukishima, gently bumping their shoulders together, Yamaguchi knows he’s won and Tsukishima couldn’t feel happier to hand him over the prize.

“I’m just a simple man who likes ice cream! Plus I know how you are with the heat, you matchstick. I’m amazed you haven’t keeled over already. You’re like a big, lazy cat!” Yamaguchi sticks his tongue out slightly at this, his right hand already lost in the side pocket of his worn out backpack, scraping around for his spare change and producing a small handful of gilded coins. “Aw- shit. I’m short 10 yen.” A short pause, during which Yamaguchi’s brown eyes seek out Tsukishima’s hazel ones with a certain pleading quality. He pulls a face, twists his mouth, rolls his eyes, all for show. It’s almost automatic, the way he immediately drops a small coin into Yamaguchi’s hand without any kind of convincing beyond a quick glance. The way Yamaguchi’s eyes light up under the inexorable afternoon sun (especially the way the corner of his eyes crinkles with the upturn of his mouth) is worth more shining coins than Tsukishima could ever hope to give him.

He knows it’s a sinking ship- his feelings for Yamaguchi, that is. He can see the seaweed curling around the walls like a vice, the fish swarming impatiently at his feet. He knows that there’s no way back to the surface from his current spot on the sandy dunes of the ocean floor. Yet it doesn’t stop him desperately flinging salt water out the windows with a rusty old bucket at all hours of the day. Their second year had been kind to Yamaguchi and, in turn, absolutely brutal to Tsukishima. He’d grown a little taller, got a new glasses prescription, studied, said stupid things to hear Yamaguchi snicker, practiced, then practiced some more just because he knew Yamaguchi liked to put in just a little more effort than reasonably needed. Not much had changed really, beyond the quiet realisation that friends don’t feel the way he does for Yamaguchi. And it had been quiet- so quiet, he sort of wonders if perhaps he’d known it on some level all along. 

Yamaguchi however, between the summer that marked the end of their first year and the summer that would come to mark the end of their second in due course, had on all accounts eclipsed himself. His hair had grown to nestle delicately around his jawline, taking on a lightened sheen with the intensifying sun that Tsukishima might say something extremely poetic about, if he had the emotional capacity to do more than stare. He was steadier, more sure of himself. He didn’t simply exist beside Tsukishima the way he might’ve done years ago- he laughed harder, spoke more, exclaimed louder, took up space in a room where he would have previously shrunk away. If Tsukishima is a ratty old sinking ship, Yamaguchi is a lighthouse adorning the coast of a nearby shore. Shining, shining, at all hours. Tsukishima could’ve told anybody that years ago, though. He’s glad it’s visible to all now. It’s so visible in fact that Yamaguchi is set to be captain next year, a fact which tightens Tsukishima’s chest with an excess of pride and an overwhelming wave of something dangerously similar to love. Watching Yamaguchi easily make small talk with the woman behind the shop till like they’re old friends, two frozen ice pops nestled in his hands, he can’t think of anyone deserving of it more. 

Second year had brought on another change- a subtle one, one Tsukishima hesitated to place a name to. He and Yamaguchi had always been close, sure. But they hadn’t always bumped shoulders like they do now, joked as closely as they do now, leaned in as far as they do now. Yamaguchi had always called him Tsukki. That in itself was a testament to the way Tsukishima cared- the fact that he allowed any kind of nickname at all. Now, though, the name ‘Kei’ finds itself nestled softly into their conversations, between sarcastic remarks and scathing quips. Yamaguchi says it with such a casual ease, like it’s nothing at all, but Tsukishima finds himself burning it to memory every time. Sometimes, when it’s late and he feels like Yamaguchi could look through him and see his emotions bare if he just stared intently enough anyway, he lets himself speak the name ‘Tadashi’, too. Their friendship had always been a simple equation, but now Tsukishima finds himself so entangled in red threads and the use of certain words and warm vocal tones and soft snickering he has no idea which way is up, only that there’s something there beyond whatever they’ve previously established. The line between friendship and romance is renowned for being dangerously thin, but it doesn’t seem to stop them from tightrope walking along it like grand, foolhardy circus acrobats anyway. Tsukishima knows he feels something for Yamaguchi- knows he wants to hold his hands, wrap an arm around his neck, lean into him until they collide in every sense. He can tell Yamaguchi feels... something. Can tell by the way his eyes follow Tsukishima across rooms, the way his cheers during matches seem louder than anybody else, the way he laughs even when Tsukishima knows his wit has fallen short of his usual standard. Yet he’s scared, so scared, that it’s easier to not mention it at all. So he’ll keep paying for Yamaguchi’s snacking habits, he’ll keep leaning in just a fraction too far then catching himself and pulling away. 

They’re sat shoulder to shoulder in a shaded spot outside the store, legs inches away from touching on the weather-worn old bench. Yamaguchi’s backpack is pressing into the side of Tsukishima’s ankle where he sets it down, his small cluster of keychains mirroring the sun directly into the peripheral of Tsukishima’s vision. 

“So are your ice cream related cravings sated now that you’ve robbed me blind? Every second you delay is a second later we have to spend on those reading sheets, you know.” He speaks without any real bite, a sardonic side eyed stare directed toward Yamaguchi as he bites down on the now empty wooden stick between his teeth. He doesn’t care about the readings even slightly- if Yamaguchi didn’t ask for the help he’d blow it off altogether to sit in front of his small bedroom fan and watch something only mildly interesting on TV together, their ankles twined together like the vines of a tree. 

“Yeah, well, you’re smart as anything! You blow through those sheets way faster than anybody else I know anyway. Plus, I told you I’d owe you! You want a contract, huh, Tsukki? My soul for your ten yen?” Tsukishima’s shoulders are shaking lightly with mirth at this point, which ignites a mildly triumphant beam across Yamaguchi’s faintly tanned face. 

“Don’t know why I’d ever want your soul. Probably has a cowlick and freckles.” Immediately Yamaguchi bursts forth with feigned indignation, swatting playfully at Tsukishima’s shoulder and sending his glasses askew slightly with a well placed shove. The scene is enough to break Tsukishima’s stoic facade in two, a rare smile breaking through in full force. Though the smiles don’t feel so rare around Yamaguchi these days. 

“Shut up, Kei! Four eyes! You’re awful to me. So awful in fact, I’ve decided I’m keeping your ten yen forever. You’ll never see that money again.” It’s all Tsukishima can do to control his smile as he scoffs without any real heat and rolls his eyes. When he looks back, he finds Yamaguchi staring, still, with that easy look on his face. There’s a distant look in his eyes, one that makes Tsukishima’s hair stand on end. Yamaguchi’s eyes can only be described as a dull brown in colour, even in the gradually bronzing late afternoon sunlight. Tsukishima wasn’t a romantic- he couldn’t draw comparisons between topaz and sunsets and tender earthen soil. Something about the way Yamaguchi is staring silently makes him think he could try, though. He leans in ever so slightly, wants to see how far he can let himself go this time, how close he can get before the tide of reality beats against his side and reminds him he’s sinking again. 

Seconds pass, Tsukishima just staring back now in a mild, comfortable pause. They’re so close on that rickety bench that Yamaguchi’s bag has fallen aside and the length of their legs are pressed together in several places, despite the uncomfortable heat. However, as all things inevitably do, Kageyama and Hinata approach from a distance seemingly with the same intent of acquiring ice cream. The moment ends, and Tsukishima resolves to never mention it. He’ll just keep buying ice cream, leaning further and letting the pervasive heat cloud his judgement just enough. 

\---

The next moment comes a week later, on the Sunday. The heat keeps raging on, hitting a new record for the year with each passing day. The weeds on the side of the pavement shrivel slightly under the unending rays, the air seems thicker with it and Tsukishima is convinced that he’ll die before he ever feels a temperature that nears comfortable again. They’re sat on the sofa in Yamaguchi’s front room, watching the weatherwoman point toward her green screen, wrists clad in expensive looking bracelets that glint distractingly as she lays out the prognosis for the coming week. Yamaguchi shifts slightly, jaw setting minutely into a frown as the woman announces a predicted temperature increase into the thirties. Tsukishima finds himself looking away, eyes locked on the micro changes in Yamaguchi’s face. He was mostly focused on that face anyway, if he’s admitting things to himself. 

“I’m worried about the alley cats. There’s a big tabby that likes me- you know the one, don’t you, Tsukki? You think she looks like she’s feral.” Tsukishima does know- the cat in question is the mangiest, dirtiest cat Tsukishima has ever seen. She was overwhelmingly fond of Yamaguchi though, in the most painfully endearing way possible. “Won’t she get thirsty? I’m going to leave her some water, I think.” 

It’s the small things about Yamaguchi that make Tsukishima feel like he’s going to collapse with it all. The way he cares so deeply about things that Tsukishima would never even think to acknowledge. The small yet pronounced acts of generosity and compassion that outline Yamaguchi’s entire personality, the way in which he just wants to help even the ugliest, most rejected alley cat in the neighbourhood. The overwhelming respect and tenderness Tsukishima feels for him in that moment cocoons uncomfortably around him, bringing a tense, heightened awareness to the way he could reach out and place a hand around Yamaguchi’s warm, sloped shoulder right now. He could kiss him. He could lean forward, look Yamaguchi in his eyes and kiss him. He doesn’t. 

Instead, he merely sighs. “Tadashi, it’s an alley cat. It’ll be fine- it’s probably used to scavenging.” He hadn’t intended on using Yamaguchi’s name like that, but it was too late for consideration now. Between the heat and the tightening grasp of overwhelming affection around Tsukishima’s lungs, he didn’t have much consideration to give anyhow. The moniker hung between them heavily like a thick smoke, softening the lines on Yamaguchi’s features by a fraction before they tightened again. “If you’re that worried, then set some water. But do not- and I mean it when I say do not- text me when you wake up to the sound of rabid cat fury at three AM after every cat in the neighbourhood discovers your little oasis.” Maybe Tsukishima sounds harsher than he intends. He worries, briefly, but Yamaguchi takes it standing like he always does and the words roll off him easily. Tsukishima feels the weight of his respect and care only increase further for it. 

“Maybe that’s the plan. To win them over and form a cat army to torment you, specifically.” Yamaguchi’s worry doesn’t quite dissipate with the remark, but the frown crowning his eyebrows loosens gently. Even when he frowns, Tsukishima thinks he could be a painting. Or maybe a sculpture. Or a romantic soliloquy. He doesn’t know- the stagnant heat in Yamaguchi’s living room is too much for him to think deeper on the comparison, not that he’s well acquainted with the arts anyway. He is, however, well acquainted with his observations on the tone of Yamaguchi’s skin and the slight bump in his nose. It never feels quite acquainted enough. 

“You’re an evil one, Yamaguchi. Pure unadulterated evil.” To this, Yamaguchi merely grins before pulling himself up off the sofa and padding towards the kitchen, tugging lightly under the collar of his t-shirt to fan it against his chest. The quiet rush of tap water against a glass bowl mingled with the blurring voices of the TV makes Tsukishima’s brain feel like radio static as he sinks into the space left behind by Yamaguchi’s form. There’s nothing quite so romantic as a lingering smell or a human shaped warm imprint left in the sofa, but Tsukishima thinks sinking into Yamaguchi’s formerly occupied space alone could be enough. For now, at least.

“Kei, can you unlock the front door while I carry this bowl out? I don’t wanna drop it, I think I filled it a little too high.” The name brings Tsukishima’s mind to a rapt attentive state almost instantaneously. He leans forward slightly, just enough so he can observe Tadashi in the open doorway of the living room, standing with a simple smile as he holds the bowl with care. He can’t even get himself to feel resigned to it as he stands to offer a hand, twisting the small, silver key into the door and opening it to usher Yamaguchi through. He watches him place the bowl softly against the hard, dry concrete. Watches the hem of his shirt rise slightly. Watches his hair slip softly out of the headband he’s used to push it back. Watches, watches, watches. He’s so tired of watching the shape of Yamaguchi’s arms, the veins under the skin in his rough hands, the shift of muscles in his back. 

As Yamaguchi stands straight again, readjusting his headband, something inside Tsukishima crumbles. He reaches out to wrap his fingers around Tadashi’s- they fit so well, like the missing chords in a piece of music. He won’t look at the expression on Yamaguchi’s face- he just faces the alleyway adjacent to Yamaguchi’s front porch and resolutely stares into the distance. Stares, so he doesn’t have to acknowledge this little intersection of the platonic and decidedly not-platonic they’re having. As Yamaguchi rests the side of his head against Tsukishima’s shoulder and doesn’t pull away, it’s unspoken that he’s in no rush to acknowledge it either. For a second, Tsukishima thinks maybe he could hope. They don’t have to be a grand metaphor about red threads of fate and sinking ships and lighthouses. They’re just Tadashi and Kei, stood in a doorway, holding hands and leaning together. Because that’s just how they’re meant to be. And it’s simple again, just like that.

Eventually, the lack of breeze under the worsening sun becomes too much for Tsukishima’s frail constitution, and he lets out an overdramatic wail that makes Yamaguchi laugh so hard he drops Tsukishima’s hand, retreating indoors to sit ever so slightly apart on Yamaguchi’s sofa again. 

\---

It happens again, sat together in their final class of the school year. Their second year has officially reached its conclusion- even now, thinking back on it carefully, Tsukishima feels like the time has escaped him. The days of lining up for practice under Daichi’s careful hand feel so far away on the horizon, it’s like he’s lost among the minutes of his own existence and he can’t ever hope to find his way out. Ennoshita has made it official, now. He’s passing the torch on to Yamaguchi (Though Tsukishima could’ve called that weeks ago. He did call that weeks ago). Staring at the slight crumple in Yamaguchi’s school shirt collar, he thinks maybe Yamaguchi is his only hope of finding his way out and experiencing clarity again. That might be a little intense, but then so are the feelings he doesn’t talk about. 

“I’m honestly terrified, Tsukki. Like, obviously, I’m super honoured. But I’m also fucking terrified! I can barely wrangle Hinata and Kageyama together most days. Now I have to wrangle a bunch of third years as well?” Yamaguchi’s head drops into his hands at this, knuckles paling as he courses his fingers through the long strands of his hair. Yamaguchi is turned backwards in his chair, elbows resting against Tsukishima’s desk casually. The way his shirt is rolled up at the elbows exposes the trail of freckles along his arms, definitely darker with the sun exposure now. Tsukishima notices and observes, like he observes everything about Yamaguchi. 

“To be fair, Yamaguchi, Hinata and Kageyama are like two wild hurricanes that exist with the sole purpose of out-doing each other. I don’t think any first year could ever quite capture the pure chaos and disruption they bring.” Hinata seems to sense he’s being discussed as his head shoots up across the room from where he’s sat gesturing about something to Yachi and Kageyama, with much more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. He pulls a face at Tsukishima, who pulls a face back, before returning to his previous conversation. The exchange fills Tsukishima with an off-putting sense of warmth, like catching himself on the side of a cooking pan. In a sick sense, he’s come to recognise Hinata as a friend. Yamaguchi smiles earnestly following the exchange, twisting something in Tsukishima’s gut.

“Oh, come off it. I see you two, you’re friends secretly. Even when you call him shrimpy.” Tsukishima feigns a gag at the comment, causing Yamaguchi to bark a laugh. 

“Well I refuse to call him anything else. He might get the impression I don’t despise him.” 

Yamaguchi’s face remains fixed in an easy smile, considering for a moment before pressing on. “Well, you call me Tadashi sometimes. Maybe you and Hinata will be on the level of Kei and Shouyou someday, eh?”

Tsukishima falters. This is the closest they’ve ever come to an acknowledgement. It isn’t enough- could never be enough if he still can’t lean over the desk and capture Tadashi in a kiss the way he yearns to. But he won’t push it. Today is not the day for confessions. 

“Well… you’re different. It’s different. I don’t think I’ll ever be as familiar with someone else like I am with you. I’ve known you too long.” It’s a rare moment of vulnerability not masked in sarcasm for Tsukishima- Yamaguchi recognises this, if the soft look in his eyes is anything to go by. His hand comes up to mess with the cuff of Tsukishima’s sleeve, fingers gently brushing against the pale skin of his arm every now and then. It’s simultaneously far too much and so far from ever being enough. 

“I think the same, Kei. You really are my best friend. Even if you’re an asshole.” It’s a soft, loving statement packaged with a biting quip, just as Tsukishima has come to expect. Yamaguchi’s index finger has come to a standstill, resting against his arm now.

Tsukishima swallows dryly, the final bell ringing and prompting Yamaguchi to stand and begin clearing his desk. It’s so, so hot, and weary, and the summer feels suffocating, but Tsukishima thinks maybe he’d like to suffocate in it. 

\---

It’s three AM and Tsukishima feels his eyes struggling to stay open, fighting against the strain with every passing second. He’s huddled against Yamaguchi’s side on his bed, a movie half played through flickering on the TV screen facing them. Yamaguchi is watching with rapt attention, one hand lightly grasping Tsukishima’s elbow and the other lost in a bag of sweets. They’re little strawberries- Yamaguchi bought them because he thought Tsukishima would like that. He did, but it had more to do with Yamaguchi’s hopeful tone and thoughtful smile than it ever had to do with strawberries. Most of his feelings had more to do with Yamaguchi than anything else, though. 

The temperature outside has finally cooled to a respectable seventeen degrees during the day, but it’s probably more like ten right now. They’re even forecasting rain during the coming week. The relief from the heat is like a soothing balm to Tsukishima’s muddled nerves. It almost feels like a finale, a crescendo to something big. But there’s no big revelations or grand sweeping changes in their little isolated bubble. Just the murmur of the TV and the occasional shift of fabric as Yamaguchi repositions himself, leaning vaguely into Tsukishima’s side. 

The colours of the TV bounce off Yamaguchi’s face like a kaleidoscope- hues of green, blue, red. Tsukishima thanks his stars that whatever is on seems to have captured Yamaguchi’s full attention, because it lets him stare like this. Stare at the curve of his cheek, ornamented with those freckles that remained a source of chagrin for Tadashi, despite how much Tsukishima found he liked them. Stare at the curl of his eyelashes. The definition on his cupid’s bow. At the risk of sounding overly poetic, there was a lot to admire on Tadashi’s face. If Kei didn’t know any better he’d say maybe he was a little more acquainted with the romantics than he previously thought. 

It’s quiet between them- comfortably so. They often sit in subdued silence, but this feels different. Tadashi’s arm has snaked further around Kei’s elbow now, has become more secure in its attachment. The brushing of a calloused fingertip against the skin inside the bend of his elbow mixed with the need to stare openly at Tadashi is the only thing stopping Kei from giving in to the soft, cool blanket of sleep. There’s something inherently romantic about friendship, but this is a new thing entirely. Friendship. He’s not sure there’s any way they can go on calling it that much longer. Whatever it is between them seems to grow thicker over each passing day, like the underbelly of a rose bush. Kei finds himself entwined completely. He’s never felt so comfortable among so many thorns. 

He thinks he loves Tadashi. Well, knows it, really. He knows he loves Tadashi. It’s just a fact of the universe. The tide will always go out and then come back in. The sun will always set. Kei is, and likely always has been, desperately, hopelessly in love with Tadashi. Saying it to himself so plainly isn’t a crashing realisation. Nothing about Tadashi is ever crashing or rough or sudden. Kei’s world just seems to function on the orbit of Tadashi’s at all times, constantly floating along painlessly. It’s a calm feeling, even. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s three AM, maybe it’s the final break in the temperature, maybe it’s the gentle scrape of Tadashi’s fingernail against his arm. There’s something different suddenly, like maybe this is the natural course of things. All things come to an end or grow into something new eventually, and maybe this is their time to grow beyond not talking about it. It’s less of a conscious decision and more of a gravitational pull- but he leans in. He leans into Tadashi, and leans, and keeps leaning. He couldn’t ever lean in far enough. Tadashi has turned toward him at this point, is staring at him with an unreadable look in his eyes, the colours of the TV continuing to cast him in a faint glow. Kei is a logical person, sure, but his judgement and penchant for critical decision making go blind with tenderness as he finally, finally leans in to kiss Tadashi. It’s soft and chaste and it only lasts a couple of seconds, but Kei doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to go back to not talking about it again. It’s too large to sit between them anymore. Not that there’s any space left between them for it. 

Tadashi is looking him directly in the eyes with the widest, most dulcet smile he’s ever seen. It’s an acknowledgement made without words. Kei needs words. He needs to hear it. Tadashi knows him- knows this. 

“Please do that again.” Is what he gets. It’s not many words- but it’s enough. A dam of desperation previously unrecognised inside Kei seems to break and rushes forth with the force of a nuclear reaction, a hand finally coming to rest on Tadashi’s neck faintly, like Kei’s scared if he rests fully it’ll fall through and he’ll have to go back to bumping Tadashi’s shoulder and staring somewhere that isn’t Tadashi’s face. 

He does it again.

**Author's Note:**

> as always any comment or kudos is SO appreciated!! tysm for reading


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